


Leavin' the Light On

by LoversAntiquities



Series: Shameless [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blindfolds, Feathers & Featherplay, Ficlet, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 05:34:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6410851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s dark, that much Dean knows. Dark, the room chilled around him from the open motel window, the blinds drawn shut. “No onlookers,” Castiel had said from the start before draping a strip of silk over his own eyes and tying it behind his head. “No one but me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leavin' the Light On

It’s dark, that much Dean knows. Dark, the room chilled around him from the open motel window, the blinds drawn shut. “No onlookers,” Castiel had said from the start before draping a strip of silk over his own eyes and tying it behind his head. “No one but me.”

Castiel’s his only witness tonight, Dean considers, wrists straining behind his back. And he _knows_ Castiel is watching, that in the silence of their room in Wichita, that Castiel is circling the bed, taking in every inch of him. He must be a sight, the way his arms writhe with the sound of Castiel’s breath, his thighs tensed from where he’s positioned on his knees, ankles bound to the leather-padded cuffs tying his hands together. Between his legs, his cock stands proud, occasionally twitching when the bed dips, when Castiel’s mouth ventures close to his skin, already overheated just from _want_.

“You’re warm,” Castiel says with admiration as he kneels at Dean’s side on the bed, a single finger drifting up and down the column of his spine, over every indent, every notch. Dean chews his lip with it, throat working to hold back a moan. “You’re allowed to talk,” Castiel reiterates and removes his hand, disappears from the bed.

Dean opts not to, purely out of shame. It’s embarrassing how much he wants this, wants Castiel’s hands on him, around where he’s swollen and hot, straining for any form of touch. And Castiel never delivers, just keeps teasing him for what has to have been an hour, with nothing but his fingertips and tongue. He physically shudders when Castiel kisses his nape, capturing the sweat beading there between full lips, breathing out hot along the back of Dean’s neck. “Beautiful,” Castiel murmurs, low; Dean can’t deny the shiver Castiel creates, can’t stop the sigh that rushes out of him, just from a kiss. “Good.”

What touches him next isn’t warm at all—it’s soft and frayed at the edges, soothing in the way it trails across his overheated flesh, down the trembling muscles of his abs and circling up, again and again. Dean twists away when it gets to be too much, his breathing growing more ragged the longer Castiel torments him. And still, he can’t bring himself to say it—say _anything_ , for that matter. The only word he can form is Castiel’s name, in full, the three syllables falling from his lips effortlessly.

Castiel praises him each time with a kiss to his neck, the bed dipping at Dean’s front. The blasted _feather_ continues to map out every inch of flesh he has: under his chin, down the vulnerable insides of his wrists, between his taut thighs and straining knees. Never where he wants it, never where he _needs_ it the most. “Please,” he whispers at some point, nothing more than a silent breath.

Still, Castiel hears and stops touching him all at once. Dean’s whimper is inhuman, somewhere near a snarl with the loss of contact. He could come just from this, just from being treated so _gently_ and yet not at all, his range of sensation limited to what Castiel provides, what Castiel’s willing to give. “Tell me what you want,” Castiel shushes, close to his ear again, the warmth of his body drawing another shiver. “You can say it.”

“…Please,” Dean sighs again, lips parted ever so slightly. Castiel doesn't touch him, doesn't even make a move to; Dean throws his head back, wanton. “Please,” he repeats, louder, more adamant. “Make me come.”

“Do you deserve to?” Castiel’s voice is little more than a rumble, and Dean arches into the feather again, Castiel dragging it across his peaked nipples and circling, almost torturous. Dean pants into the open air and clenches his fists, his hips trying in vain to follow Castiel’s touch. “Answer.”

“Yes.” The word comes out in a rush. He’s almost mortified with how much he wants it, arousal practically sentient in his veins. Castiel praises him with a peck to his throat, mouthing kisses up to his chin, ending at his lips; Dean groans into his mouth, revels in the warmth of it, the slide of Castiel’s tongue against his own.

And then Castiel pulls away, leaving Dean to arch into nothing, his cock twitching from neglect. “Please,” he says— _begs_ —and bows his head. “ _Please_ , Cas.”

“I told you what to call me,” Castiel admonishes, and Dean’s stomach sinks when the bed dips at his sides, both Castiel’s hands framing his hips. He sucks a dark mark to Dean’s skin, just below his ear, and Dean lets out a pathetic groan. “Say it.”

 _God_ , he’s going to catch on fire; his chest already burns, his nape bright and heated to the touch. “Please,” Dean starts, not even bothering to choke back a moan. “ _Please_ , Commander.”

It had been funny when Castiel first suggested it—now, it’s all he can think about it, the word sweet on his tongue. He repeats it when Castiel pulls away and passes the feather over where he wants it, the soft barbs caressing the crown of his cock and dipping into the slit, wet and leaking everywhere. It doesn't take him long to come, Castiel’s touch insistent and agonizing, forcing the pressure in his balls to tense and release. He’s loud when he comes, mouth agape as he dirties the feather and Castiel’s wrist with his release, orgasm leaving him claustrophobic and winded in the aftermath.

Castiel works to unbind Dean with swift fingers, helping to stretch his cramped limbs while Dean half basks in the pleasant buzz, the rest of him too sensitive to comprehend. “You’re safe,” Castiel whispers, quiet, and kisses him alert, finally removing the blindfold and dropping it to the side.

Dean blinks in the dark of the room and reaches up to kiss Castiel again, hands desperately clutching Castiel’s face, his cheeks flaming under his palms. “You’re gonna kill me,” Dean huffs out a laugh, and Castiel only kisses him quiet in response.

“I’d certainly hope not,” Castiel muses, lifting his hand as an afterthought. White flecks his fingers and wrist, the black feather still held between two fingers, utterly ruined. Without prompting, Dean sits up and takes his wrist in hand, licking away the come on Castiel’s heated skin; never once does he look away, not when Castiel’s eyes go hooded, tongue wetting his lips.

“Your turn,” Dean chuckles, and all Castiel can do is nod.

**Author's Note:**

> I love random thoughts that turn into 1k fics that I almost forget to post before I crash for the night. Have some featherplay for your evening!
> 
> Title is from the Darius Rucker song.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/loversantiquity).


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